“You don’t know my cousin Rachel as well as I do.
She is quite capable of saying to one of the tenants, in her easy way,
“Do you know of anyone who would like to learn Italian?”
And where should we be then?
Besides, I have heard gossip already, through Seecombe.
Everyone knows that she has been left nothing in the will.
All that must be rectified, and at once.”
He looked thoughtful, and bit his pen.
“That Italian adviser said nothing of her circumstances,” he said.
“It is unfortunate that I cannot discuss the matter with him.
We have no means of knowing the extent of her private income, or what settlement was made upon her by her previous marriage.”
“I believe everything went to pay Sangalletti’s debts,” I said.
“I remember Ambrose said as much in his letters to me.
It was one of the reasons why they did not come home last year, her financial affairs were so involved.
No doubt that is why she has to sell that villa.
Why, she may scarcely have a penny to her name.
We must do something for her, and today.”
My godfather sorted his papers spread upon the desk.
“I am very glad, Philip,” he said, glancing at me over his spectacles, “that you have changed your attitude.
I was most uncomfortable before your cousin Rachel came.
You were prepared to be very unpleasantly rude, and do absolutely nothing for her, which would have caused a scandal.
At least you now see reason.”
“I was mistaken,” I said shortly; “we can forget all that.”
“Well then,” he answered, “I will write a letter to Mrs. Ashley, and to the bank.
I will explain to her, and to the bank, what the estate is prepared to do.
The best plan will be to pay a quarterly check, from the estate, into an account which I will open for her.
When she moves to London, or elsewhere, the branch there will have instructions from us here.
In six months’ time, when you become twenty-five, you will be able to handle the business yourself.
Now, as to the sum of money every quarter.
What do you suggest?”
I thought a moment, and named a figure.
“That is generous, Philip,” he said, “rather overgenerous.
She will hardly need as much as that.
Not at the moment, at least.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t let’s be niggardly,” I said.
“If we do this thing, let us do it as Ambrose would have done it, or not at all.”
“H’m,” he said. He scribbled a figure or two on his blotter.
“Well, she should be pleased by this,” he said; “it should atone for any disappointment with the will.” How hard and cold-blooded was the legal mind.
Scratching away there with his pen at sums and figures, reckoning up shillings and pence, how much the estate could afford.
Lord! how I hated money.
“Hurry, sir,” I said, “and write your letter.
Then I can take it back with me.
I can ride to the bank also, so that they have your letter too.
My cousin Rachel can then draw from them at once.”
“My dear fellow, Mrs. Ashley will hardly be as pushed as that.
You are going from one extreme to the other.”
He sighed, and drew a sheet of paper before him on the blotter.
“She was correct when she said you were like Ambrose,” he replied.
This time, when he wrote his letter, I stood over him, so that I could be certain what he said to her.
He did not mention my name.